


something to hold onto and keep my head above water

by thesicknesswillbedistant



Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Codependency, Hurt/Comfort, I wrote it to cope alright, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, probably, this is so bad please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29751786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesicknesswillbedistant/pseuds/thesicknesswillbedistant
Summary: Percy comforts Monty after a meeting with his father.
Relationships: Henry "Monty" Montague/Percy Newton
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	something to hold onto and keep my head above water

**Author's Note:**

> listen, this is not good. I know it's not good. it is shameless, self-indulgent, pure projection hurt/comfort that I wrote while I was Going Through It. but sometimes I need bad angst when I feel like that so I bestow it onto you.  
> tw for talk of monty's abuse and suicidal ideation  
> also this is most likely not a depiction of a healthy relationship dynamic so don't say I didn't warn you

I don’t know why I’m such a wreck.

That’s all I can think as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling fan as it spins, numb and wishing for something—alcohol, attention, pain,  _ anything _ —to make the numbness stop. Well, not anything. I’ll take numbness over the terror, though neither is exactly preferable. An hour ago, I was sick with the same dread that always accompanies my father being upset with me. Sick, shaking, and dizzy. It was ridiculous. 

My father didn’t even hit me tonight. I only had the bad luck of failing a pre-cal test—not my first failure, either, prompting my teacher to make a call to my father—when I had already come home well past curfew the night before. He was angry about both things, really. But all he did was shout at me for it. He went on a long tirade about  _ responsibilities _ and  _ consequences _ and  _ accountability _ that I only half-listened to. It was hard to pay attention when every sudden move made my entire body tense up. Just being in my father’s office activates my fight or flight. But he never hit me. After his lecture, he sighed and dismissed me, sending me upstairs full of energy and fear and nowhere to put it. Sometimes I think it’s worse that way. At least when he hits me, it ends. I know that it’s over, at least for the time being. At least then I have a  _ reason _ to feel like shit. But when he doesn’t I just have to wait, hoping but never really knowing if it  _ is _ over, making myself sick because I can’t get out of my own damn head.

Now, I’m spent. All the fear is gone, leaving me drained. It feels like it gets worse every time. I should be used to this. I should be able to keep my head when my father raises his voice. But it feels like every time I walk away feeling worse than I did the time before. The anxiety feels more overwhelming and the burnout feels more exhausting.

I don’t know how I can keep living like this. 

I really, really don’t.

Sometimes I just think about ending it all. It would be so easy. And then I would never have to meet my father’s eyes again. I would never have to watch my mother from across the room and hate myself for missing her. I would never have to spend another night pressed against the wall in someone’s house and hoping that someone will take me back to theirs so I don’t have to go back to mine.

I always chicken out in the end. Sometimes just thinking about it scares me off. Sometimes I’ll look in the mirror with no memory of how I got there holding something sharp or a bottle of pills that I can’t name and realize with a jolt what I want to do. And then I set it down. Because sometimes dying scares me more than my father does.

But that doesn’t make it any easier. I still feel like picking myself apart, like coming undone to the point that I don’t recognize myself anymore. I want to hurt someone or something or myself. I have the urge to hit something. But then I think of my father slamming his hand on the desk when confronting me about my grades, and I wonder if I’ll always take after him so.

Sometimes that alone is enough to drain me of my will to live.

The heaviness in my chest makes it feel like an effort to sit up. Everything feels like an effort, like I’m moving through sludge. I have to keep reminding myself that there’s more to do.  _ Sit up, Monty _ and  _ swing your legs over the bed, Monty _ and  _ stand up, Monty _ .  _ Be a functional human being, Monty _ .  _ Stop being so hysterical, Monty. Pull yourself together, Monty. _

I only manage three of those things. Once I make it out of bed, I stumble over to my dresser and pick up my phone. I have to do something with these thoughts, get them out somehow. If Percy doesn’t answer, then I can do something regrettable.

The phone rings once. Twice. Three times. I start to feel uneasy, worried that Percy just can’t be assed to answer me. Not that I would blame him, but—

Percy picks up. “Hey, love,” he says. His voice is all soft and sleepy. Right, because it’s probably well past ten now, and by now Percy is usually getting in bed to lay on his phone for an hour or two before he goes to sleep.

And suddenly I don’t feel like I have the right to ask this of him. He’s already in bed and here I am, calling him because I’m falling apart for the third time this fucking week. It’s a testament to my sorry state that I nearly start crying right then. I have to put a hand over my mouth to silence myself. He doesn’t deserve this. Percy deserves better than having to clean up my wreckage all the time. It’s not as if there’s anything he can do to really help me.

My silence stretches for too long. “Monty?” Percy prompts. The sleepiness is gone now, replaced with a tinge of worry. “You there?”

“I—” I choke on my words.

I hear rustling on the other end. Percy sitting up. “Hey, darling,” he says gently, “what’s wrong?”

“I need five reasons,” I finally manage. It comes out tripping on a sob. Percy swears under his breath. I don’t think he means for me to hear it but I start to backpedal anyway. “No, nevermind, don’t—”

“No, Monty, you’re fine,” Percy interjects. “I mean, it’s okay. Five reasons to live?”

“Yes,” I say, cringing again at how pitiful I sound.

“Okay,” Percy says, “okay.” I hear more shuffling. I think that he’s getting out of bed. “Are you home right now?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” There are more sounds and I don’t have to guess what he’s doing now. He’s going to come see me. I  _ should _ say no, tell him to stay home, I’m not worth the trouble. But I’m selfish and desperate and need to feel, just for a moment, like I’m worth something. “Number one, because our one-month anniversary is coming up and I want to spend it with you. I know one month isn’t much of a milestone but after pining for you for four years, I think I’m allowed to celebrate.”

I laugh a little. He’s right. I’m looking forward to it too. Though a lot of the time it doesn’t feel real, being with Percy after loving him from afar for so long has been everything I ever wanted.

Well, everything except the fact that we have to hide it because I still answer to my father. Everything except the fact that I still drink myself to sleep most nights and call Percy when I feel like killing myself. Everything except that I’m so,  _ so _ certain that we won’t see that many anniversaries.

But I love him. And I’ll be his as long as he’ll have me.

“Number two,” Percy continues. I hear him throw open his closet, the scuffle of his feet as he puts on his shoes. “Without you, there would be one else in gym less coordinated than me, and I need that.”

I snort. “You think I want to give you that?” I ask, though there isn’t any bite to it.

“I think it would be a kindness,” Percy says, making me laugh again. “Number three,” he presses on, undeterred. “No one else is going to hate Richard Peele with me.”

I can’t help a small smile. I know where this one goes. “I hate Richard Peele.”

“WE HATE RICHARD PEELE!” Percy says so loudly that I have to pull the phone away from my ear. “Number four, graduation is only a few months away and I still really want to see you walk the stage in heels.” I laugh again and I can practically hear his smile as he continues. “And five, without you, everything would be the worst. Absolutely awful. I know it doesn’t fix everything, but I want you here, Monty. Because I wouldn’t know what to do with myself without you. And because I love you. Okay?”

“Okay,” I echo softly. My voice wavers again.

“I love you, Monty,” he says again. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Okay, I love you too.”

I return to my bed to wait for Percy. I consider the logistics of finding a bottle of brandy before Percy gets here because, while my conversation with Percy did make me smile, I can’t shake the numbness from before. Unfortunately, I don’t think I could. It’s too daunting of a task, and Percy would probably take it from me as soon as he gets here anyway. He hates when I drink, especially at times like this, and has made that no secret since we got together.

Fifteen minutes later, Percy is climbing in through my window. I barely get the chance to stand up before he pulls me into his arms, pressing a lingering kiss to my forehead. I melt into him. He guides me back to bed, quickly kicks off his shoes, and sits with me. He never lets go of me. I don’t pull away. I lay my head on Percy’s shoulder. He runs his fingers through my hair, kissing my temple over and over. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I shrug weakly. “Same shit as always,” I mutter.

“Your father?”

I nod.

Percy makes a sound like a growl that, under different circumstances, I find very attractive. “Are you—”

“He didn’t hurt me.” I look up at Percy. He watches me like he doesn’t wholly believe me. “Really, Perce, he didn’t. I’m just…” I trail off. I don’t know how to explain it to him. I don’t even know what’s wrong with me half the time. “I’m just so tired,” I whisper.

Miraculously, Percy seems to understand. “I know, sweetheart.” He rubs circles on the nape of my neck. “Just a few more months. Then you can get away from your father. It’ll get better. I promise.”

“And…what if I don’t?”

Percy frowns. “What?”

“What if I—” I stop. It feels so stupid now to try to explain it to Percy. But he waits, patiently. “What if  _ I _ don’t get better?” I ask quietly. “What if I’m always going to be like this? What if I’m ruined?”

“Monty—”

“What if I always jump every time I hear a loud noise in the other room? What if I’m never any better than my father? What if I never get sober? What if you’re always stuck picking up my pieces?”

“God, Monty, is that what you think this is?”

It’s my turn to frown. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not  _ stuck _ with you, darling.” Percy takes my hand and kisses the back of it, holding my eyes. “I love you. I’m here because I love you, and I care about you. And you’re  _ nothing _ like your father. You are so much better than him. And you  _ are _ going to  _ get better _ . You’re so close to getting out, and then you’re going to heal.  _ This _ isn’t all there is. One day, you are going to have everything you ever wanted, because that’s what you deserve, and you’re barely going to remember being here.” He squeezes my hand tightly. “I know it hurts now. And I know it’s hard. And I know your father makes it so hard to think about there ever being more than this, but there is.”

I bite my lip to keep from crying again, feeling ashamed and pitiful but still. Something about what Percy is saying makes something settle in me. It doesn’t change how I feel. Those feelings aren’t so easily swept away. But, if I was drowning, his words would be something to hold onto and keep my head above water, even if I’m still adrift.

“Thanks, darling,” I say quietly. “I think…I needed to hear that more than I realized.” I try to tack a laugh onto that but again, it comes out as more of a sob.

“Of course.” Percy leans in and kisses me gently. “And, for what it’s worth, I fully intend to make good on my promise one day.”

I pause. “Which?”

“Once you’re well out of his reach, I’m going to kick his ass,” Percy says, so gravely serious that I have to laugh. He lets a smile peek through too. “I’m serious! I’m not a violent person—”

“Liar.”

He makes a face at me. “But your father drives me to it.”

I hum in response. “I’d like to see it. You could take my father, I’m sure. He’s old and feeble.”

Percy circles his arms around my waist, pulling me into him. For a long while, he doesn’t say anything. I think we might just sit in comforting silence for the rest of the night. I would be fine with that. I would probably fall asleep. I’m still exhausted, and I always sleep better with Percy there. But then Percy runs a hand up and down my back, presses another kiss to my head, and says, “You’re going to be okay, Monty. It’s all going to be okay. Not yet, but someday. And you’re going to be so glad that you lived to see it.”


End file.
